🏎️

I forgive it all as it comes back to me

[probuccalfat]

be sincere and true to yourself or suffer soul death you don’t have any other choices

[mr-mistyeyed]

would u still love me if i were stuck in a cycle i've never been able to break

[kocalls]

[podcastwizard]

hey sorry it's just that i don't think i'm very good at being a person. thanks for letting me try with you, anyway.

[aniconist]

when people are like “he’s not even attractive you could find a guy that looks like him at any gas station” i’m like….. well you see there’s beauty everywhere actually

[what-even-is-thiss]

You can also find a sunset at a gas station

[thriftedspacesuit]

time to break out my favorite photo I ever took

[cottaqecore]

source: mimolag on flickr

[sashayed]

has anyone figured out how to turn off the thing where you love your pet so much it slides inexorably into grief-borrowing

[boomstab-papa]

[your-cosmic-creature]

“For me this glass is already broken. I enjoy it; I drink out of it. It holds my water admirably, sometimes even reflecting the sun in beautiful patterns. If I should tap it, it has a lovely ring to it. But when I put this glass on the shelf and the wind knocks it over or my elbow brushes it off the table and it falls to the ground and shatters, I say, ‘Of course.’ When I understand that the glass is already broken, every moment with it is precious.”

[gacougnol]

Lucien Clergue (French, 1934 - 2014)

Genèse, 1978

[homoidiotic]

Alley Of The Tranny Boys (1998) Christopher Lee

"The film that started radical transgender porn. Alley of the Tranny Boys was the first feature length erotic film with an all-trans man cast. In 70's retro style, S/M, Hot big cocks and sexy trans stars. Starring Angel, Buck Davis and a host of celebrity porn stars." - International Transgender Film & Video Festival Program, London 1998

[jakemorph]

youre an olympic level hater. i respect it.

they asked me to represent my country in the sport of hating i said no. i hate my country

[violetdowner]

[thecryptkeeper]

[speedlimit15]

cherry bomb voice Hello tumblr hello blog

[anasabdin]

Graceful Defeat

[195195119511951-deactivated2021]

In the first poetry workshop I ever took my professor said we could write about anything we wanted except for two things: our grandparents and our dogs. She said she had never read a good poem about a dog. I could only remember ever reading one poem about a dog before that point—a poem by Pablo Neruda, from which I only remembered the lines “We walked together on the shores of the sea/ In the lonely winter of Isla Negra.” Four years later I wrote a poem about how when I was a little girl I secretly baptized my dog in the bathtub because I was afraid she wouldn’t get into heaven. “Is this a good poem?” I wondered. The second poetry workshop, our professor made us put a bird in each one of our poems. I thought this was unbelievably stupid. This professor also hated when we wrote about hearts, she said no poet had ever written a good poem in which they mentioned a heart. I started collecting poems about hearts, first to spite her, but then because it became a habit I couldn’t break. The workshop after that, our professor would tell us the same story over and over about how his son had died during a blizzard. He would cry in front of us. He never told us we couldn’t write about anything, but I wrote a lot of poems about snow. At the end of the year he called me into his office and said, “looking at you, one wouldn’t think you’d be a very good writer” and I could feel all the pity inside of me curdling like milk. The fourth poetry workshop I ever took my professor made it clear that poets should not try to engage with popular culture. I noticed that the only poets he assigned were men. I wrote a poem about that scene in Grease 2 where a boy takes his girlfriend to a fallout shelter and tries to get her to have sex with him by tricking her into believing that nuclear war had begun. It was the first poem I ever published. The fifth poetry workshop I ever took our professor railed against the word blood. She thought that no poem should ever have the word “blood” in it, they were bloody enough already. She returned a draft of my poem with the word blood crossed out so hard the paper had torn. When I started teaching poetry workshops I promised myself I would never give my students any rules about what could or couldn’t be in their poems. They all wrote about basketball. I used to tally these poems when I’d go through the stack I had collected at the end of each class. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 poems about basketball. This was Indiana. Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore. I told the class, “for the next assignment no one can write about basketball, please for the love of god choose another topic. Challenge yourselves.” Next time I collected their poems there was one student who had turned in another poem about basketball. I don’t know if he had been absent on the day I told them to choose another topic or if he had just done it to spite me. It’s the only student poem I can still really remember. At the time I wrote down the last lines of that poem in a notebook. “He threw the basketball and it came towards me like the sun”

[gaysie]

t shirt that says I MISS EVERYONE I WAS EVER FLEETINGLY CLOSE TO SO MUCH THAT IT KILLS

[robertfagden]

its not my fault that sex noises and pain/fear noises sound exactly the same